


Commiseration

by cleighc



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Starvation, The White Spire, incarceration, the Pit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleighc/pseuds/cleighc
Summary: Modern girl in Thedas ends up sharing a cell with Cole in the Pit. And they become each other's everything.





	Commiseration

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings, please read the tags. Child abuse to the point of death, and mental health issues including anxiety, depression, and madness.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age, the Inquisition, or any of the affiliated games. 'Tis a pity.

Evie curled in on herself, wrapped in a white comforter and wedged into the corner behind the door of her bedroom. Snuggling into the front of the vent, trying to soak up the warmth. She absentmindedly touched the metal of the vent frame, and hissed when she realized how hot it was.

But the brief pain was welcome. It grounded her. Caught up in the sensation of _feeling_ kept her busy mind off of… everything.

But it was difficult. She was constantly aware.

She felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Frayed by constantly lit nerves that pulled at the edges of herself- a persistent anxiety that twisted her chest and limbs tight with tension, and made her irrationally paranoid. Constantly reevaluating her behavior, walking on eggshells to try and avoid the next confrontation. 

Afraid that she would keep hurting, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Sick of the tension, Evie shoved a pair of headphones over her ears and forced a cd into the orange karaoke machine she was currently using as a makeshift boombox. Heavy rock blared, but she couldn’t get her fingers to uncurl from fists. And then after a few moments, she realized she was shaking.

She tried to ignore the warms tears spilling down her cheeks, and thought about what would help. Pacing was her new favorite coping mechanism, but she was careful not to do it around her family. She received enough disparagement from them already. They didn’t need any additional ammunition.

Evie distantly became aware of vibrations against the door at her back, and realized someone was knocking on her door. She pushed the headphones onto her neck. It turned out to be her mother. “Evie! The dogs need to be taken out. And have you started the laundry yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Steven will be home soon.”

Evie felt her fingernails dig into palms from a burst of angst from her chest. “I know.” She didn’t need the reminder.

Her mother left.

Evie reluctantly picked herself up and made her way downstairs. Bubbling with resentment, she stewed as she let the dogs outside and absentmindedly filled their water bowls.

Because it was all her mother’s fault.

Laundry was next, and then she started to prepare for dinner. A frying pan in order to cook the Italian sausage and heat the spaghetti sauce. Another large saucepan of water for the noodles.

She had both done by the time Steven arrived home, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him smile, walking towards a dining table already set for dinner. Any sign of good humor was a cause for respite and gave her a measure of hope for the evening. Perhaps he would not be so quick to anger tonight?

The middle-aged man had a large frame, formed from years in the army and then hours at the gym weightlifting. A slightly rounded middle and greying goatee the only sign of his age, which he attempted to manage through a series of yo-yo diets and the occasional hair dye. He smiled at her as she carried a large bowl filled with salad leaves and cut garden vegetables out of the kitchen.

“So, what’s on the menu this evening?”

“Spaghetti.”

He grinned, and turned to move into his office. “Ah, the old classic. When will it be done?”

“Already done. Just need to set the table.”

“Excellent. I’ll be out in a jiffy.”

Evie collected her mother from her place in front of the television in the living room. The older woman had dark curly hair and wore a dress in the shape of a shift, her dainty wrists and ankles on stark display. She had been watching an old black and white film as she beaded a necklace together, occasionally looking down to match the color and material of the beads. She dismissed her daughter with a hand flap, not liking to be rushed, and snapped out, “Be sure to grab me a Pepsi from the fridge.”

Evie hollered up the stairs for her little brother, who poked his head out at the top of the staircase and gave her a look filled with all of the indignation a ten-year-old could possibly be capable of. “What is it? I’m busy.”

“Dinner time.”

“Argh!” He rolled his eyes and let out an aggravated voice as he went back to his room.

They finally sat down to eat together some ten minutes later, and Evie was thankful she had thought to keep the burner on until everyone had settled into their seats. The light chattering as everyone grabbed some salad was pleasant enough, and everyone let out sounds of appreciation when she brought out a loaf of garlic bread fresh from the oven with the main course. Evie was feeling almost optimistic.

But then her mother started goading her.

“Who was that boy you were standing with at school earlier today?”

“Eric. He’s just a friend.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me _that_. You’ve never really attracted _that_ kind of attention. Although he looked like your type. Not very attractive, and kind of nerdy?”

“Mom!” Evie tried to push down the indignation and embarrassment. Nothing good came from acting defensively. She had learned that lesson the hard way.

Steven spoke up in her defense. “Come on, Bella, she’s not that bad-looking. I’m sure if we put her out on the corner, she would have a few takers.”

Evie had to bite her lip to keep from shuddering unpleasantly at that comment. Not the first time he had casually insinuated prostituting her out on the corner, but it still made her feel slightly… dirty every time it was mentioned.

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Only because she is young.”

“She’ll be graduating in May,” Steven prompts.

“As people keep reminding me.” She turned towards her daughter, “What are your plans after that, by the way? Your grandma called me again today and nearly bit my head off. What have the two of you been plotting?”

Evie knew better than to speak up.

“I know you have been bragging about your scholarship to the University. Which is fine, but your situation with FASFA is hardly my fault.” She turned towards Steven provocatively, and the older woman’s eyes narrowed in irritation, “Weren’t you supposed to help her with that, by the way? Why do I have to be the one being bitched at?”

Steven lips curled back unpleasantly. “We haven’t been able to finish her FASFA because you haven’t finished your business taxes for the year, Bella.”

“Evie and Brian were supposed to find all of my business receipts. It is hardly my fault that they have been locked up in their rooms doing God only knows what…”

Brian spoke up defensively. “We tried to find your receipts, Mom. But they’re all over the place. On the floor of your car, stuffed between crevices in the bookshelves in your work room…”

Steven nodded. “Kid has a point. You are the very definition of disorganized.”

Bella’s eyes became slits, and she pushed back the plate of food in front of her dramatically. “I know where everything is. Just because it looks disorganized to you-”

He cut her off. “You live in a pigsty, Bella.”

The woman’s eyes flashed, and she got up from the table. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.”

“And what, you are just going to walk away? Like a fucking child?”

She swirled back towards him, the ends of her hair flipping from the momentum. “What did you call me?”

“Just calling it out as I see it, Hun.”

“Really? Shall I do the same?”

“Bella…” Steven growled out her name in warning.

“I saw those girls, Steve. The fucking teenagers who painted the letters of your name across their stomach? I know you like fiddling around on your drum set, but don’t you think you’re a little too fucking old to play rockstar?”

“I wasn’t _playing rockstar_. They were just drunk and-”

“And what? You probably encouraged them. And for God’s sake, they couldn’t have been much older than Evie! Although I shouldn’t be surprised, now that I think about it. I know the two of you went hiking last weekend-”

She was interrupted as Steven took a hold of the entire table and threw it back against the room. Dishes full of food crashed to floor, and glasses full of milk and soda spilled out across the wood. “Shut your fucking mouth Bella! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The older woman looked from the red-faced man breathing heavily, to the mess on the floor. She didn’t look at either of her children. “I don’t need to put up with this shit.”

She left, and all three of them heard the door slam and a car speed out of the driveway.

Steven let out a yell of aggravation, and picked up dishes and started pitching them across the walls. The sound of dishes breaking made Evie and her brother freeze apprehensively, especially as the man started screaming profanities. And then, after a few minutes of rage-induced activity, the man went to the fridge and drudged out a chilled bottle of whiskey, before throwing himself in his office.

Evie felt something in her stomach drop as she saw the alcohol bottle. She watched Brian bound up the stairs as soon as his father had left the room, and stared down at the mess on the floor dispassionately. And then she began to clean up, righting the table, and throwing away the food and broken dishes. Her anxiety grew as the minutes passed, and she spent the time trying to make the dining room so clean everything gleamed.

She knew it was an exercise in futility, but couldn’t help the desperate hope that tonight would be different.

Steven stumbled out of his office an hour later, red-faced and tense, and the gleam in his eyes made a shiver of terrified trepidation creep throughout Evie’s body. And she knew today wouldn’t be different.

The accusations were the same as when he started this treatment of her two years ago. Everything was her fault- the focal point of his relationship difficulties with his wife, the source of his aggravations when he got home from work. When he should be relaxing, goddamit. She was a drain, not particularly talented, not particularly beautiful, and not even his real daughter. So why, then, did he have to put up with her shit?

The accusations changed. How he was sure she slept around in high school. He was sure those nights she was out with the other Orchestra kids were spent drinking and experimenting with drugs. He hadn’t caught her yet, but he knew the truth. She couldn’t hide from him. The GPS on the phone he gave her assured him of that.

Towards the end of his rants, words were accompanied with fists. Heavy blows she attempted to block with her forearms, at first, before his experience in hand-to-hand combat from his time in the military was demonstrated through more strategic hits. And Evie was quickly overwhelmed.

It hurt. It hurt so much. The words she could shake off, for the most part, because they were nothing but slanderous lies, but the cuts and bruises… So far the man had been careful to avoid her face, aware and afraid enough through the hazy drunkenness to be disinclined to make the abuse too obvious. But it turns out tonight was different after all.

He wouldn’t stop smacking her face, and the pain made her nerves sing. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow through a mouthful of blood, couldn’t stop the panicking… She felt tears pouring down her face as she started protested, denying his claims, fearful for her life for the first time since these confrontations started…

Her senses seemed to constrict. Sounds muffled, colors swirled, as the painful sensations on her nerve endings danced… She was dimly aware of screaming, crashing, and she was falling, her head hit something hard… but Evie wasn’t paying attention. Because suddenly there were misshapen beings of light and swirls of dark standing above her, filling her narrowed vision.

She tried taking a deep breath instinctually, but her prone position and the blood in her throat made her choke- and then desperation for air as she struggled to breathe became most important, and the anxiety mounted and-

Warmth. Dark. Quiet.

* * *

Evie came into awareness choking and coughing, and sat up abruptly, feeling a breeze and sensing _openness_. Why is she outside? She carefully opened her eyes to see that she was lying on a dirty street next to a cramped, severely dilapidated apartment complex. She looked around warily, while taking a careful assessment of her body. The pain of her cuts and bruises lingered uncomfortably, and her vision was still fuzzy. A concussion, perhaps?

She heard a voice suddenly from behind her, and twirled instinctively, attempting to stand. She almost immediately toppled over, but an arm reached out to steady her.

Evie looked towards them in gratitude, a smile and a platitude already forming on her lips, when she realized what she was seeing and faltered. A young woman, clearly starving based on the skinniness of her frame. Her hair hung in greasy blonde clumps, her dirty clothing hinted at a complete lack of curves, and her ears… they were pointed.

Evie blinked, then purposely rubbed her eyes, confused… but they were still there. And more than that, the young woman appeared to be very uncomfortable at the direction of her attention.

Evie flushed with embarrassment, and offered a small smile. “My apologies for staring. I believe I hit my head rather hard. Where are we?”

The woman’s head tilted in consideration. “You are inside of the Alienage in Val Royeaux. I am guessing you do not know how you came to be here?”

The woman’s voice was strangely accented, but still understandable. Maybe. Because Evie was reasonably sure she had never heard of Val Royeaux. Was this a city? How in the world did she end up here? Paranoia and anxiety mounting, Evie struggled to breathe evenly, fingernails digging into her palm.

One slow, deep breath. Two. And she was able to regain some modicum of focus.

Evie tried to approach the situation logically and considered for a moment, lost in uncharitable thoughts, that her step-father had driven her somewhere remote and unceremoniously dropped her off while she was still unconscious. Perhaps hoping she would die before someone could find her body? Although if that had been the case, she would have been deposited in a forest, not in the front of a ghetto…

The woman’s waved her hand in order to get Evie’s attention, frowning in concern. “Are you alright?”

Evie was hesitant to voice her circumstances, although at this point, she wasn’t very invested in being circumspect. “I was assaulted and woke up here.”

The blonde woman gave her an empathetic nod that hinted at the reciprocal pity that was engrained in shared grisly experiences. The idea that this woman had suffered a similar fate made Evie queasy, even as she tried to match the gesture.

The woman spoke quietly, but stoically, “I apologize for your situation, but… you cannot stay here. If the city guard were to get some idea that we were harboring a shem, the ramifications could be… severe. They would misunderstand.”

Evie cocked her head in confusion. “Shem?”

But the young blonde woman did not answer her inquiries, quickly reacting to the sound of heavy steps in the distance. She reached out a gentle hand in the middle of Evie’s back and pushed her towards a heavy iron gate in the distance. “Go,” she whispered urgently.

Still confused, but recognizing the underlying tremor of terror in the woman’s voice, Evie nodded and headed out of the gate.

Wandering around aimlessly, it quickly became clear that this city was not like any she had ever visited. There were no cars. No electric lights installed anywhere. And the architecture of the buildings was completely unlike anything she had seen anywhere in Arizona. The clothing style of the people only served to highlight the exoticism of this new place. Overflowing with frills and lace, the colors flamboyant, the cut and length somehow pretentious… The masks were the most disconcerting piece of their ensemble, and Evie considered (with no small amount of hysteria), that she may be suffering from delusions or hallucinations. Because there is no way that this _vision_ could be real.

She was proven wrong quite quickly. A patrol of armored men wearing swords and other manners of long, pointy metal weapons were heading her way. Anxious not to establish any kind of contact (they looked rather formidable) she jumped into an alleyway.

It was rundown, much dirtier than the outside road, and… occupied. Evie was unpleasantly surprised to realize that there were two well-dressed men who appeared to be equally inclined to avoid the patrol.

Evie had desperately hoped that they would ignore her and let her resume her wanderings, but it was not to be. And she could understand why. The thin, bloodied cotton of her clothes (ideal for Arizona temperatures) looked like rags compared to the extravagance that was the mishmash of silk, velvet, and leather that made up their outfits in brilliant gem colors. And her appearance, bruised and bleeding, painted her a victim. Which demonstrated she was an easy target.

It didn’t occur to her right away that they intended to rape her, for some reason. She was prepared for a physical assault, and held her fists in front of her defensively. But then one of the men grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the wall, and the other began pulling on the few pieces of clothing covering her body, and Evie started panicking. Wriggling helplessly, and screaming defensively until she felt an armored forearm brutally slam inside of her mouth.

In the midst of her struggle, Evie realized her anxiety felt different here. It was composed of tighter coils that did more than tense her limbs and increase her paranoia- it weighed heavier somehow. And for some reason, that difference solidified the idea that she was currently experiencing a hallucination, and Evie couldn’t accept the fact that she was without power if this was just a manifestation of her subconscious (surely it couldn’t be too different from lucid dreaming?). So, she imagined fire. Spewing with the force of a modernized flamethrower, and extending from all of the points in her body that were being touched against her will.

To her great surprise (she hadn’t really expected it to work, but she was desperate), fire magically appeared and did just that, and soon both men were on fire and flailing into the air, releasing earsplitting shrieks. Which soon attracted attention from the guard, as they were evidentially close enough to hear the screams.

Evie stood paralyzed in terror, choking on surprised, anxious breaths. Forced to consider what almost happened. Forced to consider what was happening now, as the fire spread up their chests, greedily devouring skin and expensive cloth alike. The sounds they were making were frightening real, and it was all happening so fast…

The patrol were angry and defensive, pointing their swords in her direction. “Apostate!” one of them shouted, and Evie curled into herself uncertainly. Wasn’t an apostate some kind of religious figure? Why- someone called out for something called Templars, and only a couple of minutes passed before another group of armored men entered the narrow alleyway, their armor less flashy (outfitted in more polished metal, but less outrageous colors), but their behavior more uniform.

The patrol was explaining the situation, apparently, although Evie had a hard time understanding their terminology. “Templars! That woman is an apostate, she attacked Comte Rousseau’s sons with fire spells! She needs to be Silenced before she kills more people!”

The evidence was damning. The men at this point were unmoving, prostrate on the ground, but licks of flame continued to travel across their burning bodies. As a result, these new armored men wasted no time lining in a strange formation and muttering foreign words, and a wave of pulsing blue shot towards her…

She screamed before she could fully register what was happening, rolling uncomfortably on the gritty stone, tears pouring down her face… it was like a pain she had never experienced before. All of the beatings she had received couldn’t compare. The time she broke her elbow attempting to roller skate. The time she was hospitalized with the bad luck of suffering a tooth infection, lower respiratory infection, and gastroenteritis at the same time…

It was like something within her body was tearing. The closest she could equate it to was heartbreak, after she found out her first boyfriend had been cheating on her for three months with her best friend. That kind of piercing, devastating, emotional pain that makes you wish for physical pain because you somehow believe it would be easier to deal with…

This pain was like that but worse because it was physical too, and Evie was barely coherent, heaving shuttering, gasping breaths as two of these ‘Templars’ came to lift her to her feet. They led her out of alleyway, carrying her weight between them because she could not, for the life of her, find the energy to move any part of her body…

She had no idea where they were taking her, and… whatever it was that they did to her left her completely without her wits. Tired, confused- she was fairly sure she was moaning from the pain, especially as the grip of the two men tightened over her bruises.

Time passed quickly, a swirl of clanking metal, hushed voices, lit wall scones, and suspicious faces peeking out of severe robes…

A new pain quickly registered in her palm, and she looked up clumsily. Only to realize they were pouring her blood into some sort of glass vial, and someone was chanting… they discussed her fate over her head, but she only caught bits and pieces.

‘_How has a mage with this much untamed magic simply gone unnoticed for so long_-’

‘_She cast magic without a staff. Is she to be trained with_-’

‘_The Comte is demanding justice_-’

‘_Incarcerated in the Pit_-’

‘_Need to wait for the First Enchanter to return_-’

‘_Will she survive the Pit?_’

‘_To the Pit-_’

‘_The Pit-_’

‘_The Pit._’

Evie slowly became aware enough to be afraid. Terrified. Full of despair, and she still couldn’t fucking breathe-

These feelings only increased as she was led further and further into darkness. The surrounding stone chilled the air, and a musty, dank smell permeated out from the entrance, but it was the dark that got to her. That made her feel afraid. Because anything can come from the dark, and she was still gripped with the irrational fixation that, as long as she knew what was coming, she could somehow prepare a counterattack-

One of the men holding her upright tripped over a protruding stone in the floor, and Evie pitched forward, shrieking in pain. The other man caught her and pulled her upright, but the pain in her bruises ached and burned as a result. She was whimpering back tears, trying to remember how to feel without being eclipsed in agony, and it was slowly coming back to her. She started to register the chilled breeze originating from somewhere in the bowels of this place, and then she started to feel cold. She had the brief luxury of wishing she were better dressed.

They threw her unceremoniously into a cell with a bucket of water and a piece of bread, and made various sounds of derision. She could barely make out any details in the cell, penetrated in darkness, and the sound of the cell door behind her slamming shut made her startle fiercely.

The breakdown that followed was inevitable. As time passed, Evie became less sure that what she was experiencing was a hallucination. The characters and the plot and the setting were too well-blended, and fantastical, and she _hurt _so much for it not to be real… and she killed people. She couldn’t wrap her head around this… reality…

She cried for a long time. Clutching her knees to her chest, rocking uncertainly.

Perhaps she had died in that dining room? Perhaps this was the afterlife? Those were the only thoughts that made any sense, although she couldn’t see how it was possible. Especially as an atheist background forced doubt into her perspective.

So, where was she? What was this? What was going on?

The shaking was getting worse, until her whole body was shivering. But then a melodious voice rang out a few paces away. “Hello?”

Evie startled, throwing herself back against the iron bars of her cage defensively. “Hello?” she asked reluctantly, fear making her fingertips twitch.

A form moved closer, and Evie realized that she is sharing a cell with someone.

“Who are you?” this mystery person asked, and based on the timbre and pitch, Evie guessed in was a young man. The deeper tones of a boy past puberty, but without the wear of age.

“Evie. Short for Genevieve. Who are you?”

“Cole. Did they bring any water?”

Evie was surprised at the request, but immediately grabbed the bucket and shuffled forward. “Here.”

He drank greedily for several minutes, and Evie considered the action with sinking despair. “Do they not bring us water?”

Silence for several long moments, and then- “They often forget.”

An edge of hysteria was creeping back in at the thought. Her breathing quickened, and she choked- What was she to do? She knew, logically, that there was nothing for it at this point, but the anxiety in her limbs was back, and it demanded that she _do_ something-

“Breathe,” Cole recommended.

Evie let out a small, wry smile as she forced herself to take several slow, even breaths. Yes, breathing was always a good place to start.

She looked at the form in front of her that was gradually gaining shape as her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she could just make out the features of his face. She saw hair that had grown out over his eyes, a prominent nose, a narrow jaw, rounded lips. She inched forward in order to see if she could see more, and accidentally came across the piece of bread.

It took only a moment of consideration before Evie edged forward feeling for his hand. He flinched when she lightly touched his arm, but allowed her to feel down the length of it. She grasped his fingers, and put the bread in his hand, curling his fingers around the crust. Because if they had forgotten to give him water, they had probably forgotten to feed him, and she wasn’t about to let that stand.

“Food,” she stated, probably unnecessarily. She let go of his hand, which he slowly brought away from her. Evie thought she could hear him nibbling.

“Thank you,” he finally said, after a long stretch of silence.

“No problem.” And she meant that. It had only been a matter of hours since she had eaten, after all, and he needed it.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence as they shuffled awkwardly around each other.

She eventually spoke up, unsure about something. “Do they usually put more than one person in a cell together?”

The young man let out a noise of consideration. “No. Not that I know of. I think they forgot I was here.”

Evie felt her fingernails dig into her palm, again, considering the implications of that. “I’m sorry.” She doesn’t know what else to say.

He didn’t say anything to that and they lapse back into silence. The first of many such instances.

* * *

Cole sunk into the moldy straw that had been piled in the corner of his cell, trying to shake off a chill. He attempted to ignore the damp grime sticking to the soles of his feet and in between his toes as he picked up a piece of straw absentmindedly. He let his mind wander, too tired to plead to the Maker for the moment, and remembered the last time he had seen his sister. He wondered if he could have done more.

He had tried to ignore the pain in his empty stomach by praying for death. He didn’t want to be a mage. He didn’t find anything wonderful or fantastical about magic. Over and over he had whispered fervent pleas for deliverance, hoping desperately to be free of the hunger pains, free of the terrible Templars.

The Maker had yet to deliver.

And then he heard the horribly familiar sound of loud, clanking footsteps heading towards his cell, and he tensed with dreaded anticipation. Were the Templars here for him? What new torment did they have planned? Or was he finally going to be fed? He hated the fact that he might have any reason to pardon their intrusion, to rationalize the beatings, but he was so thirsty…

He was more than a little surprised to see a girl shoved into his cell, and he could just make out the details of her face. A torch carried by one of the Templars reflected long gleaming reddish-brown hair, a petite nose, and large, terrified eyes. He caught sight of colored bruises and thin, bloodstained clothes before the armored men ambled away, and they were eclipsed in darkness.

He let out a sigh of relief. They hadn’t noticed him. Good.

And the girl didn’t seem to hear him over her terrified whimpers.

He watched her breakdown into tears feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He pushed himself further into the wall behind him, not sure if he should approach her. He had comforted his distraught sister when she was in a similar state, but that felt like eons ago. Another life. And he wasn’t sure his efforts would be appreciated.

So he just sat there, watching. Waiting.

But it was getting worse. The light tremors over her frame had turned into violent shakes. Her teeth rattled unpleasantly, and it didn’t sound like she was breathing successfully, forced to inhale large, gasping breaths. And before he quite knew what he was doing, still internally wrestling with his desire to help, he breached the silence. “Hello?”

She startled badly, and threw herself back into the iron bars of their cage. “Hello?” she answered back, fear and misery laced into the stuttering tone.

Maybe- maybe she would be less afraid if she could see him? To know that he wasn’t a Templar? Just… Cole? Because he still didn’t really feel like a mage. So he shuffled forward by inches and asked her a question he had been considering since she was thrown in here. “Who are you?” Why was she here?

“Evie. Short for Genevieve. Who are you?”

Genevieve. That was a pretty name. He looked over her form, barely outlined in the dark, but stopped short when he saw the bucket. He felt a fluttering of hope land somewhere in his stomach. “Cole. Did they bring water?”

She didn’t hesitate to give him the bucket, and he couldn’t be more grateful. He gulped down the stale liquid as fast as he dared, and couldn’t help the sweeping relief that spread through his body. He had the insane urge to smack his moistened lips together and relish the sound just because he could, but a split in his lips stopped him.

“Do they not bring us water?” She sounded absolutely alarmed at the prospect.

“They often forget.” Sometimes on purpose, he knew. It was easier to enforce compliance from their prisoners if they were weak with want of food and water.

But then she was making those awful gasping noises like she wasn’t getting enough air, obviously panicking, and Cole tried to help. “Breathe,” he reminded her, inwardly amused when she immediately listened.

Then she started inching closer to him, and Cole felt wariness still his body. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, hesitant, and Cole wondered as she slowly felt her way to his palm. And then she pressed his fingers around a familiar texture, and Cole was just able to appreciate the warmth of her touch just as she let go.

But he was quickly distracted by the bread in his hand. He heard her state, “Food,” and let out a small smile as he nibbled on the edge of the crust.

He was still rather confused about what she was doing here, but she seemed pleasant. That was… nice. And for the first time in a while he wasn’t desperately thirsty… “Thank you.” He hoped she could hear his sincerity, because he doubted she could see his face very well.

“No problem.” She sounded equally sincere.

So nice.

Silence followed, and he heard her shuffling around uncomfortably. Should he show her the hay? It smelled unbearably musty, but was warmer than the damp stone. He tried to decide how to tell her about the small pile of straw and the occasional nipping rats, but hadn’t figured out how by the time she opened her mouth.

“Do they usually put more than one person in a cell together?”

That made Cole think, and he carefully considered everything he had seen since being incarcerated in the Pit. He hummed, and said, “No. Not that I know of. I think they forgot I was here.” Which is exactly what he had been praying for, right? Hoping the Templars forgot that he existed so they wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore? He was oddly conflicted to know that he had actually succeeded. Had he really wanted to be forgotten? Completely?

It hurt.

“I’m sorry.” There was empathy in her voice, and he wondered at the reasons, but it didn’t make him feel any better. And he didn’t know what to say in response. So he stayed silent.

They were quiet for a long time. Before Genevieve interrupted, obviously discomforted with the stillness. “Why- Do you know why we’re here?”

Cole stared at her. She didn’t know why she was thrown in here? Wasn’t she a mage? He didn’t think they threw non-magical people in The Pit… “Aren’t you a mage?”

She paused, and her voice sounded almost strangled. “A mage? As in magic?”

“Isn’t that what you are?”

She was silent for a few moments. “I’m not sure. The fire seemed real, but… but does someone just wake up one day as a mage?”

He was really not the right person to ask about this. “I don’t think so?”

Another bout of silence. And then her tone quieted to the whispered mutterings saved for sharing confidential secrets. “I think I may be dreaming. Or dead. This is all… so impossible.”

He matched the quiet of her tone subconsciously. “Coming down here?”

“This entire world. It’s not…mine.”

Cole looked at the girl in confusion. What… did she mean by that? He could admit to speaking to the occasional spirit throughout his childhood, but she didn’t seem to be a spirit and he didn’t think she was referencing the Fade. “The… world?”

He could see the outline of her head bob in a nod. “What is this place called?”

“The White Spire?”

She hummed. “Where is Val Royeaux?”

Cole blinked, confused at her ignorance and her defeated tone. But he humored her. “In Orlais.”

“Where is Orlais?”

“In Thedas?” He couldn’t help framing the common knowledge like a question.

She started hyperventilating again, and he could barely see a glimpse of her front teeth as she bit her bottom lip in aggravation. “None of those names sound familiar.”

Cole considered that for a few moments. Was she an amnesiac? “Do you remember where you were born?”

“In a city called Phoenix. Which is in a state called Arizona and a country called the United States of America.”

Cole blinked again. That was… “I have never heard of any of those places before.”

She seemed to explode in aggravation. “That’s what I’m saying! I’m not from… here. But how did I arrive?”

“What is the last thing you remember?”

She seemed to shrink into herself. And there were tears pouring down face- “My stepfather was… hitting my face. And then… there was warmth. And I saw… figures of light and shadow above me.”

“Spirits,” he supplied as he grimaced, lost for a moment in his own experiences with his father.

“Spirits? Like, ghosts?” She sounded afraid.

Cole shook his head. “No, spirits are not ghosts. Ghosts are formed from the dead. Spirits are… the living embodiment of a specific purpose. Like love, justice, compassion. They are the original children of the Maker, and live in the Fade.”

“Ah.” She still sounded confused. “Who- who is the Maker?”

Once again he stared at her for several long moments, baffled. “The creator of the world and everything inside of it?”

“Oh, like God?”

He felt his brows furrow in confusion. “God?”

She ignored his tone. “But that wouldn’t explain how I transported worlds?”

“You- you think you transported _worlds_?”

His tone was apparently incredulous enough to warrant a sharp stare as she stated, “You make it sound so impossible.”

“Isn’t it?”

Her voice wavered, and Cole was once again hit by the fact that the girl was terrified out of her mind. “Hav- Haven’t you ever encountered something you couldn’t explain? Something so extraordinary as to seem impossible? But it wasn’t?”

He could readily admit to that. There were a lot of things that happened that he couldn’t readily explain. So maybe she was right? Perhaps this could be just one more thing? “I suppose.”

A brief pause, and then she was whispering again, her hands rubbing up and down dark splattered forearms in an anxious manner, “Isn’t that what happens when you die? You transport across worlds?”

Cole thought about it for a few seconds, and then nodded. “Yes, that sounds right.” According to the Chantry, when he died he should be able to leave this world in order to stand by the Maker’s side. So what she was suggesting certainly wasn’t without precedent. Cole briefly considered whether the Maker could have created more than one world. That sounded plausible.

“So maybe I am dead.”

Cole felt himself sober just thinking about that. “Maybe. But you feel alive right now?”

“I think so.”

“Hm.” The idea that his death wouldn’t be the end (because at this point he just wanted an end to the suffering), was more than slightly disturbing to him. But he was forced to consider the possibility. It was either that, or entertain the idea that the girl he was now rooming with was insane.

There was silence again, for a long time. They sat there, lost in their own thoughts, trying to make sense of the world as the temperature in the cell began to drop. Cole internally shuddered, dreading the night, but experience had taught him to be resigned to his fate.

Evie spoke up then, haltingly, “Do- do spirits here often surround the bodies of the dead?”

Cole shrugged, still feeling out of his depth. He was no expert. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Ah.”

And then she folded in on herself just that much tighter, and Cole could see the outline of her form shiver slightly. Cole observed what she was wearing (in the light, the fabric had looked ridiculously thin), and then considered the probability that she would catch a sickness from the cold. And he decided he would try to help.

“There’s straw over here, if you’re cold. Although we might have to share with the rats.”

She made a sound of repulsion, even as she gradually shuffled over to the direction he had pointed. She found the material and laid down on the straw, curled up in the fetal position. Cole waited for her shivering to abate, but it didn’t. If he concentrated, he could hear that her teeth were chattering, and she was hyperventilating again.

“Are- are you okay?”

“C-cold.” The stuttering became more pronounced as she opened her mouth.

“I could help? If you’ll let me?”

Another few minutes of silence, and Cole couldn’t begin to imagine what was running through her mind before she muttered a very quiet, defeated, “Okay.”

And so Cole laid down behind her and gradually shifted forward until his chest was flush against her back. And Cole couldn’t help but sigh. She was so warm. He hesitantly brought an arm up around her front, and she clung to it. Let out her own sigh of relief. Shifted back into him just that much closer.

He was much warmer than he could remember being in a long time. And Evie was very soft. And just being this close to another human being in a way that didn’t mandate bloodshed and violence was so… reassuring. Comforting. It was ridiculously easy for him to fall asleep, subconsciously nudging his chin over the top of her hair, breathing in the faint scent of flowers. Honeysuckle, if he was remembering right.

So nice.

* * *

They had fallen into a routine. Always within arm’s length, they were either pressed up against each other to share body heat, or sitting next to each other talking. At first, Evie had been apprehensive with all of the bodily contact, but after some time spent from across the cell, she realized the cold was severe enough to actually make her sick. And Cole had never tried anything that made her uncomfortable, so…

She adapted.

Gradually the silences shortened as they grew more comfortable conversing together. The peculiarity of their situation made it easier to share. They had nothing but time, and Evie easily found herself narrating her life’s story.

“Everything changed after my dad passed away. My mother didn’t seem to be able to handle herself, and sank into a depression so deep she soon lost her job. Then the house. And I couldn’t really do anything to help. She found solace in the first guy she met, and entangled their lives before she could get her head on straight. I think she regrets it now- the dependence. The reality that this man is nothing like my father.”

And Cole shared pieces of himself in return.

“When my father could afford it, he would stumble home, red from drink, angry at my mother for their situation. We were too poor to afford meat most weeks, and my mother did the best that she could. But sometimes the stress and frustration overtook him, and he would beat her bloody. I always tried to intervene, but I wasn’t strong enough to stop him. He would just fling me aside. Until finally he took it too far, and I grabbed my mother’s knife…”

Her opinion of Cole did not at all change after hearing that he had killed his father. She had considered doing the same in his place, and knew she had no right to condemn his actions. She understood what it was like to live with that kind of terror, that kind of constant anxiety, that kind of constant body ache that came from enduring several rounds of slowly healing bruises.

They found they could also relate because of the shared consequences of their experiences. The tendency to startle and flinch too easily. Reflexive responses that were always too apologetic. The occasional bout of akathisia, where they would sometimes feel so anxious they had to resort to pacing the small length of their cell in some desperate attempt to curb the restlessness. The constant self-deprecation.

Discovering these similarities helped to bridge any potential awkwardness and calm some anxiety, more than anything else. They could commiserate with each other in a way no one else had for them before, and Evie could tell how important that was to him. To meet someone who understood his actions even as he condemned himself. To meet someone who had lived through the same hell. It was important to her too.

Their meeting seemed serendipitous, and as both individuals (who had suffered so much loss and suffering) became closer, they internally decided they were not about to let the other go without a fight.

* * *

After two weeks in The Pit, Evie was convinced Cole was godsent. He was protective without being overbearing, very considerate of her suffering, and eager to help in any way that he could. He was also pessimistic with a tendency towards fatalism, but the easy warmth and comfort of his body gave her the energy she needed to reassure him.

The water and food deliveries were constant for a while. The Comte made a fuss about a public execution, and it seemed all of the publicity and potential for a public standing ensured a degree of attentiveness from the guards. They would often jostle her around when they entered the cell, and Evie could tell Cole barely held himself back against the wall into the dark during these times. But it was never anything more than a few bruises, and afterwards she and Cole would feast, quickly forgetting about the intrusion.

Gradually she and Cole started to open up about more than their past, moving onto their most and least favorite things. Their interests. The things you talk about when attempting to understand and relate yourself as an individual.

Evie had proceeded with the familiar twenty questions, which was met with mixed success as some of the requests seemed to confuse Cole about their relevance.

“Favorite… colour? I’m not sure? I suppose… pale yellow? Almost gold? The kind that streaks through clouds and bright blue skies just as the sun rises.”

“Oh, that sounds nice… My favorite is dark blue. A few shades lighter than the starry sky at night.”

“So, a color similar to your eyes?”

Evie laughed, absentmindedly shoving her oily, lank hair behind her ear. “How did you know what color my eyes are?”

She could tell Cole was smiling. He seemed to really like it when she laughed. “I catch a reflection of them in the light of the torches every time the Templars come to visit. They looked blue. The reflection of the torch made it look like a fiery sea.”

“Mm. What a poetic way to put it… They are a bit lighter than navy, but definitely blue. What color are your eyes?”

“I have blue eyes too. Although they look almost grey.”

“Do you really? I wish I could see them.”

That proclamation was met with silence. She could tell he wanted to offer her empty promises that maybe someday they would get out together and have the opportunity, but… he never did. Evie was not sure why, but she appreciated it. If he said something like that, she would hope, and she had a feeling that would make it hurt more.

She changed the subject. “Do you like animals?”

Cole brightened immediately. “I do!”

Evie had to smile at his enthusiasm. “That great. What’s your favorite animal?”

Cole was silent for a few moments. “I’m not sure. I like nugs. They like the quiet, so it’s relaxing to be around them. And they shove their entire face into your lap when they are trying to sniff out your scent.”

Evie laughed, even though she wasn’t quite sure what nugs were. “That sounds like my dog.” A pause, and then, “I’ve always loved kittens. I have had this idea tucked away inside my head that someday I might take care of a pregnant cat, and then watch the kittens grow.”

Based on the tone of his voice, Evie could tell he was smiling again. “That sounds nice.” And then she could hear him pout. It made her smile too. “The only cat I’ve ever run into scratched me.”

Evie let out a hearty laugh at his tone. “Not all cats are mean, Cole. Nice cats exist, I promise.”

“Mmm.”

She laughed again at his exaggerated skepticism.

Then they moved onto their least favorite things, and the conversation managed to stay pleasant. Evie was particularly adamant about her least favorite foods. “I hate raw tomatoes. They are the bane of my existence, because everyone wants to put them in everything, so I am constantly disassembling sandwiches and salads… It’s annoying.”

Cole was equally adamant, it seemed. “I hate beans. My mother got them on sale at the market one season, and that’s all we ate for weeks.” He looked up at her. “There are only so many ways to cook beans, and they always taste exactly the same. It was awful.”

Evie laughed. She loved to laugh, and was pleasantly surprised to find that she did so often in Cole’s presence. Equally fortunate was the fact that he smiled whenever she laughed, so he seemed to be constantly smiling.

“What about… your least favorite thing to do at home?”

His nose wrinkled up, barely visible in the dark. “Clean the outhouse.”

“Hmmm… ew. I’ve always hated washing dishes. Only because there will always be more, so it doesn’t actually feel like you are accomplishing anything. It’s just… tedious.” And because they always had to be perfect, to match Steven’s exacting standards. And the remembered sound of breaking glass when she failed still made her wince internally…

Talking about their fears wasn’t as light-hearted, but Evie found it somewhat freeing. To release those pieces of herself to another human being. Share the burden of being irrationally afraid in the hopes of being accepted. And Cole always was.

“I grew up with a fear of heights. Other things that other children seemed to do so easily- climbing trees and jungle gyms- always induced this internal state of panic. It took years of constant exposure- of me hating that part of me that was afraid and forcing myself into situations where I would have to confront it- to finally get over it. To some extent, anyway.”

He leaned over to clutch her hand and gave it a squeeze. Evie smiled and squeezed back.

Cole spoke of his fear in halting breaths. “I’ve always been afraid of the blight. It’s the idea of being corrupted- not only your body, but your soul, festering from the inside out until no one can recognize that face as yours… So, I suppose I’m actually afraid of turning into something that isn’t me?”

Evie nodded in understanding, and gave his hand a strong squeeze of reassurance. “That makes complete sense.”

“Really?” He sounded rather mystified.

“Really. When I was a little girl, I had a very bad sleepwalking habit. I would often wake up in different places, wearing different clothes, having had conversations with people that I couldn’t remember… that loss of control is terrifying.”

He agreed readily. “Hm.”

They carefully didn’t discuss their most recent fears. The more relevant ones. The fear of being forgotten, the fear of losing their mind to the dark, the fear of starving to death. As if discussing it would make it too real, make it more likely to happen. Or perhaps they didn’t feel the need to discuss it because they intrinsically knew how the other felt in this circumstance. Because this kind of fear- this inborn terror wrapped tightly around their survival instinct was felt deeply.

One of the last things they shared, three and a half weeks after she had arrived in his cell, were their insecurities. It was hard for Evie to admit to, at first. She really liked Cole. And it’s hard to disclose to someone you really like all the reasons why you dislike yourself. Especially when you have a history of abandonment and trust issues, and you convince yourself that one step too far into revealing the damaged part of your psyche could turn them away forever…

“I’m afraid to love,” she admitted to him. “Afraid to get so attached to someone that all the parts that make me _me_ are somehow about them too. And then when the relationship inevitably fails, I won’t be able to recognize myself. My life will just be pain, and I won’t know what to do with myself.”

She hated that part of herself- the part that relied on other people for happiness. Maybe because she saw the consequences of this need in her mother. But she had never learned how to secure any kind of healthy attachment- her mother’s relationships after her dad were always interspersed with bitterness stemming from necessary financial dependence, and antagonistic slights because her mother was self-conscious since she had started her medication for diabetes, which made her defensive. She had never seen or experienced a relationship that was all love and shared commitment, and convinced herself that these ideals, these fairy tales propagated by romantic comedies misinformed girls about the realities of romance.

“I understand.” The statement he made was solemn, his tone rife with commiseration and depression.

Those two words had never made her feel more accepted than she was at that moment, and she couldn’t resist reaching out to grab his hand. But the all-encompassing dark, the damp grime that clung to exposed pieces of arm and leg, the chilly draft that filled the air between them; it made this moment of connection bitter-sweet, because she knew if wouldn’t last.

She continued to share through whispering tears. “I’m also afraid that I am too broken to make anything of my future. That too much has happened, so that my body and my mind are already programmed to expect the terrible and overreact as a result. So, I will never be truly normal.”

“What would being normal give you?” He sounded genuinely curious.

That stopped her for a moment. Because the importance of normality had taken on an entirely new meaning since she had suddenly appeared in a world that was largely unfamiliar. “Security? Because otherwise I don’t recognize the world around me. And I don’t know what I should be doing, which can be dangerous.”

“Hm.”

He didn’t always tell her what he was thinking, but that was fine. Sometimes he would finally say something some ten minutes later. But at least he was thinking about what she had to say. At least he actually listened to her, instead of pretending to listen. And when he spoke to her, it was to share- he didn’t speak just for the opportunity to voice his own opinions. It was nice.

“I don’t like magic,” he confided in her during the coldest part of the day, which they spent wrapped around each other, burrowing into moldy hay. “I hate that I’m a mage. Maybe if I wasn’t, I would still be with my sister. We could be working and living in a cottage. Somewhere warm, and well-lit from a line of windows. But I do have magic, so I’m feared and hated for things I don’t even understand.”

Evie had never heard of a universe where magic wasn’t revered. It was objectively interesting, although personal experience made it terrifying. She nodded against his chest empathetically, whispered murmurs of commiseration, and it was like a dam broke.

“I hate that I wasn’t strong enough to save my mother. I wasn’t smart enough to rescue my sister; I was too stupid to know who to ask for help. I hate feeling like a coward, because maybe if I hadn’t been afraid to reach out… I hate that no one cares. Our neighbors watched my father strike my mother, strike his children, and they did nothing. They watched.”

His eyes found their way into hers despite the lack of light. There was just enough to see a gleam in the whites behind his irises. His gaze was intense. “I never want to be that person. Too afraid to help. Too embarrassed or uncomfortable to intervene.”

“Then don’t be,” she whispered, and he brought their foreheads together, clutching her body against his.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the dark. Evie squeezed him in return. She had expressed similar moments of gratitude through the weeks, and knew he didn’t need words.

* * *

As three weeks turned into four, conversation had a tendency to lull into bouts of comfortable silence, which Evie thought was just as nice as when they talked. They would sit together, sharing the comfort of their body heat, thoughts drifting as they smelled the damp draft and listened to the far off sound of footsteps. Those brief segments of time became about warmth and security, of reassuring themselves with their bodies that they were real in the darkness, that they still existed and there was someone there that appreciated that existence.

Physical comfort gradually changed form as they became more comfortable with each other. It started innocuously, with a brief grip of hands and side-to-side cuddles. The timing of those grips increased and gradually became rubs. Cole would rub her back when she was especially upset. She would rub his when he became anxious and depressed, and she could tell he needed something more than her side pressed into his. Rubs turned into hugs that would last through the night and long into the morning. Then they gradually began to trace each other’s form in the dark with their fingers, as if attempting to recreate the other in their mind’s eye in a way that regular sight could not in the darkness.

The first time he kissed her, they were sharing dreams. Which seemed somehow precious when shared in the dark, like a baby bird hidden safe in the nest, not yet ready to take flight. She admitted to not getting too attached to dreams, desperately afraid of disappointment. But she had always wanted a garden. A large yard where she could plant every kind of flower. Every kind of fruit, vegetable and herb she could think of. And in the summer time, she would open the doors of her house and be assaulted with the colors and the smells.

Cole admitted that he was religious, and had hopes to join the Maker’s side once he left this world. He shared a love for music, and a secret desire to learn how to play the lute. And he said he had always hoped for a person of his own. Someone he could share things with without the fear of a reprimand. Someone who was willing to listen, to be there and support him. He kissed her while still trying to communicate how much she meant to him. And although he didn’t manage to get all of the words out, Evie understood. And reciprocated.

Their kisses were sloppy with inexperience, but driven and passionate. They felt comfortable experimenting, trying different angles to see what worked. And when they found something that worked for both of them, the kisses got better.

Baby steps.

A few kissing sessions opened them up to discovering other places they could kiss and taste. Cole slowly, meticulously, licked and kissed his way down her neck and back up again. Evie sighed and clutched him closer, feeling the area below her abdomen tighten. Evie, in turn, took to kissing every part of his face, starting with his eyelids and ending with his nose. She held his face gently but securely in her hands when she did this, and could hear every time he let out a quiet sigh. It made her smile and feel warm inside every time she heard it.

Soon they were kissing and exploring every inch of themselves with each other. Evie found she was extremely sensitive in the dark. The rough pads of his fingers rolled soft circles into her back, then up her ribs skimming her breasts… and it felt like heaven. Eventually his fingers wandered south, and she demonstrated how she liked to be touched. Circular patterns that just brushed her clit. He mimicked her, hesitantly at first, but with more confidence as she made noises from his ministrations. She gasped, clutching at his rough clothes, looking for absolution. It came, and she bit down on the urge to moan too loudly.

She was eager to return the favor, and she quietly and meticulously explored this new part of him. Ran her fingers up and down his length, inwardly celebrating each gasp and movement of his body. Because it told her that she was doing something right, which was imperative when she felt so unsure of herself. He liked her grip tight, pulling from the base up to the head of his cock. The sticky mess afterwards was a surprise, but she just wiped her hand on a bit of hay and kissed him soundly.

These reciprocal touches, moments of bliss, continued for some time. Eventually he stopped her before he had finished, and her heart stopped for a few moments before she realized he had asked in quiet tones if he could try moving inside of her.

Evie was scared. Nervous. Apprehensive. And excited. She was afraid of the pain, but if her first time was going to be with anyone, she wanted it to be with him. So she nodded, and he positioned her with his large hands. Slowly spread her legs apart- some small part of her was equally pleased and afraid to notice how much fat she had lost in her thighs since her arrival in this world. She looked up at him as he guided the tip of his length in, trying to make eye contact in the dark. Breathed unsteadily as he made shallow thrusts.

When he got deep enough to penetrate her hymen, Evie just sighed. The pain was new and sharp, but nothing like what she had been forced to experience in her short life. It was nothing by comparison.

And then he reached some part of her when he leveled out that made her want to move, and she did so. And it made the whole thing so much better. Cole’s fingers wandered, rolling his thumbs slowly over her breasts. His mouth made sloppy, reverent kisses up the side of her neck, stopping just under her ear. And Evie realized she couldn’t stop the noises she was making, unbelievably turned on, and was alternatively rubbing and clutching Cole’s back with no small amount of desperation.

He came before she could, but Evie didn’t mind. The experience was much different than she had expected, but not in a bad way. And Cole had been as considerate as possible given their circumstances. It was so nice.

They put their clothes back on, afraid of the rats. But they threw their bodies into each other with new abandon as they attempted to find a position that was comfortable on the musty straw, and they stayed that way for the rest of the night. Secure in each other and comforted in a way neither could readily explain.

* * *

Cole clutched her just a bit closer, reluctant to wake up. Last night had been… miraculous. Or some equivalent he couldn’t find the words for. He had been sure when he had been condemned to this place that he would lose the opportunity to experience so much; it seems the Maker had seen it fit to grant him one last blessing before his passing. Cole was so incredibly grateful for Evie, but…

He could also admit to being slightly resentful. Why did he have to meet her now? At the end of his life, where there was no opportunity for a future? He wasn’t so sure about himself, but he knew Evie deserved a happy future. And why did he have to care so much when he knew there was no way this would end well? He had nightmares of being forced to watch her starve to death as they stopped feeding her just like they stopped feeding him, and sometimes woke up in tears.

It was in these brief moments of despair that Cole was angry at the Maker. How cruel was it to put him in this position? Make him love so he could realize what he was missing just before he lost it? And he could admit to falling in love. Evie was wonderful. Not afraid to be herself, which was something that Cole greatly admired. And she was blunt and sincere in a way he thought was beautiful. And she was able to connect with and understand him in a way that made him feel inexplicably close to her…

Evie let out a breathy, tired sigh and shifted in his arms. He tightened them again with a smile that was almost reflexive at this point.

He hadn’t told her all of his feelings yet. He had such a hard time describing something so… complex. Because he had come to find that that love was more complicated than just happiness- there was insecurity, worry, fear… and he couldn’t find the words.

Another sigh closer to a moan, and Evie turned in her sleep. She was close enough that, even in the lack of lighting, Cole could make out the outline of her nose and mouth and two sets of eyelashes. Warmth spread through him looking at her, and he smiled again.

She woke up slowly, leisurely, and Cole waited patiently for her to look at him. She did so, and Cole met her upturned lips with his own. She giggled after he pulled back from her face, and Cole’s smile widened.

“Good morning,” she said, her tone flirty.

“It is a very good morning, isn’t it?” Cole was happy the words just poured from his mouth.

She giggled again, and cuddled into his side. They lay there for several, long moments.

Evie, as usual, was the one to break the silence. Some thought had sobered her, because when she looked up at him the set of her lips was stern. “They haven’t given us any water or food for three days.”

Cole felt something unpleasant clench in his gut. “Hm.”

She paused for a few beats, and then, “They’re doing this on purpose, right? So we’re not strong enough to fight back or attempt escape. Because I doubt they have forgotten about me this quickly.”

Cole let out an involuntary sigh. “I suspect so.”

She was quiet for a long time, clutching him closer to herself. Cole recognized her anxiety and fear as well as if he was looking in the mirror and hugged her closer. Rubbed his hands up and down her back in a manner he hoped was reassuring. She sighed in response, and nestled her head into his chest.

“Do you ever wonder why so much misfortune had to happen to us? Was it something we did?” Her tone was melancholic and slightly resentful.

“I’m not sure.” He often wondered the same thing, of course. Trying to consider the Maker’s plan for him in a way he could understand. Because so far his life seemed to have been a culmination of fear and pain.

“Will it ever get better?” she whispered the question into empty space of their cell as if afraid to voice her thoughts out loud. As if keeping them somehow contained would keep them safe.

“I hope so,” he had the strength to stay. He was surprised to discover through his conversations with Evie that he still had the courage to hope. And these buoyed feelings had only increased in intensity the closer he felt to the girl pressed against his chest.

“Me too.” He could barely hear her response, but it was enough. He kissed the top of her head reassuringly, not at all minding the grime.

That day their conversations were solemn and filled with melancholy, despite the lightheartedness they shared waking up together. And then day three turned into day four without sustenance, and their affections that night reflected their growing concern. Their desperation. Moving inside of her felt less like a joint exploration, tentative moments of connection, and more like a driving need to settle himself inside of her. Her skin, her heart, her soul. Become close enough that the security and comfort of their jointness, the giddy feelings of their touch, could drive away the anxiety and the fear.

The practice worked for a couple of days. And when Cole finally found the right moment to tell her about his love for her, she was smiling through tears before he had fully managed to describe the complexity of his feelings, the vindication he felt in her presence. That day was a reprieve. She stated, “Of course I love you too,” so bluntly, he couldn’t help but laugh at himself and his insecurities.

Because, of course she loved him.

That day was a reprieve. They basked in the glow of their shared feelings, their conversations light and playful. And touching her felt freeing in a way he had never experienced. He realized he trusted her completely. And there was something about that which made the experience better- they were able to easily laugh away little mishaps as he bit down a little too hard on her nipple, as she scratched down his back just a bit too forcefully.

They had experienced enough pain.

But this day they laughed. As she gave him purposely sloppy kisses over the whip scars on his back. As he tickled her sides, and later her knees as he lifted her legs apart. He felt up and down the smooth skin of her body, thrust into the welcoming ache between her thighs, and wished with an intensity that surprised him that the Templars would wander by. Just so he would have enough light to see the pink of her areolas, the contours of her stomach, the blue in her eyes. He made do with shadows, and listened to the noises she made as they moved together. Little gasps, breathy moans, barely comprehensible mutters of affirmation and love.

He had never felt so full of emotion. He rubbed her in the way she liked, wanted to hear her gasp, her breathing quicken, and was surprised when she got tighter. He found himself whispering to her reverently, she was beautiful and perfect, and so wet and tight, perfect for him…

She came, and the feeling was like absolution. His thrusts quickened and then he jerked uncontrollably in her tight tight tight space, warm and wet enough to make sound, and he was coming, light flashing behind his eyes as euphoria and the instinctive need to fill her body with his warmth and love overtook his body…

They lay together afterwards, too temporarily fatigued to put on clothes, and basked in the warmth and the nakedness. His head felt so light. So dizzy. Cole had a brief fantasy of living with Evie in his imaginary cottage full of windows, mentally adding a garden in the back for her plants, a pregnant cat in the corner, and a bed soft with feathers, where they could cuddle and sleep and love as comfortably naked as they were now…

He saw his sister sewing in the corner. Evie sweeping the wooden floors, her pregnant belly just beginning to swell. The pleasant smell of pine burning in the fireplace as he fiddled with a lute, melodies light and hopeful.

He carefully ignored the growling of his stomach (the internal ache that was threatening to swallow him whole), the growling in hers, and the distant sound of screams that carried in the dark, cavernous space.

***

As day seven turned into day eight, Evie woke up crying shuddered tears and couldn’t stop. She waited for Cole to comfort her, and when she noticed he had yet to respond, she frantically felt for him in the dark.

He was there, and he was warm. But he was also silent.

“Cole? Sweetie? Are you alright?”

Evie held his face between her hands, brushing away the hot tears that dripped down her chin and onto his cheeks. He murmured incomprehensibly, and Evie realized that his forehead was burning hot. She took the time to feel his body through clothes that had become rags at this point, her touch clinical rather than affectionate. And she realized several things.

Odd skin rashes that turned her touch abrasive on his forearms. Bleeding scabs surrounding puffy skin on his hands and feet. And his skin was loose in a way Evie considered rather terrifying.

She had noticed that he was acting rather lethargic and noticeably dizzy the last couple of days. They both had been experiencing headaches. But she had no idea he was this bad off. She had forgotten that he had been in here much longer than her. And her attempts to share most of her food and water had merely prolonged the inevitable.

Evie did what little she could to care for him. She wiped his infected wounds as much as she dared, perhaps just now realizing exactly how thin he really was. Just skin and bones. Extremely loose skin stretched over thin bones that popped and creaked…

She cried all day that day. Furiously paced the space of their cell, cuddled up against his fevered body whispering false assurances… screamed in between the rusty bars of her cell for medical attention, more afraid of his death than she was of the Templar’s abuse. Of the acknowledgment that they might take him away and not return him.

Finally, all she had left were tears, and she rocked herself trying to come up with a plan.

When he seemed to come to a day later, Evie was beyond overjoyed. Until she realized he had no idea where he was, and his fear and confusion encouraged him to hurt himself. He called out for her, sounding broken and lost and confused… Evie’s heart broke as she tried to reassure him, tried to hold him, but he brushed her off and couldn’t seem to see her. She could only pull him away from the bars every time he began throwing himself against them.

He gained coherency briefly in the night, and Evie wasted no time clinging to him and softly repeating that she loved him. She cared for him. He wasn’t alone. He cried brokenly into the dark, clutching her to him in terror.

She woke up to him hitting her face, calling her a demon, and demanding she leave. He had no interest in her crafty deals. He believed in the Chantry, in Andraste, and he refused to be tempted. He intended to stand by the Maker’s side when his life finally ended.

Evie huddled into the other side of the jail cell and tried not to cry. She couldn’t afford to cry. She also didn’t have the energy to fight his delusions. Make him see through his hallucinations. She wished she were braver as she watched him desperately attempt to claw through the stone wall, tearing the skin off the tips of his fingers in the process. His blood was everywhere. On the wall, pooling in the cracks of the stone floor, soaking the hay.

That night was filled with screaming. He pulled anxiously at his oily, matted hair and screamed at the pile of hay. Fire. His world was on fire, and he was in flames, and then suddenly he met her eyes and screamed for her to run to safety. The flames were going to swallow her whole, were going to burn her alive, didn’t she understand that she needed to run? He loved her, she needed to survive, they were going to have a cottage with a garden and kittens, and why wasn’t she running?

She found she didn’t have any tears left to spill. Her dry sobs increased in intensity watching his torment.

She didn’t actually get the opportunity to watch him fall. Not completely. This display was soon interrupted by the sound of heavy, clunking footsteps, and before she knew it Templars were illuminating the inside of the cell. And she could finally see the blue grey hue of his eyes just as they were enshrouded with madness.

They carried her off kicking and screaming. She demanded they bring her back. She screamed for them to rescue him, feed him, heal him. Then she watched the mustached man purposely ignore her and a stray thought (the grieving, screaming, tormented injustice) was enough to set the man’s clothes on fire.

They slammed her against the wall, and threatened to Silence her, but then someone was laughing a chilled, sophisticated laugh.

“Oh, she’s such a darling. Perfect for what I need.”

The armored guard looked at her, spitting fury and venom, bloody and dirty and disheveled, and asked skeptically, “Are you sure?”

The woman came into light. Her dark skin and eyes gleamed in a way that spoke of artfully applied make-up, and her clothing style was dramatic and dangerous, encapsulating a powerful sense of sexuality. Fined and pointed as a weapon. “Absolutely. I’m sure the Comte won’t mind, considering the manner of compensation.”

Evie didn’t stop struggling as she exited the White Spire, but she paused long enough to send a prayer to his Maker. To the spirits that watched over the dying. She prayed for his salvation. For his deliverance. Her soul whispered into the space above the Pit that she would gladly sacrifice her entire being for some compassion.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think. I am considering making a sequel, where Cole the spirit/human meets her after Vivienne brings Evie to the Inquisition. And we would discover that it was their love that encouraged the spirit Compassion to show, that prompted him to become more than just a spirit. Does that sound like it has potential?
> 
> Other things that bothered me: do you think I put too much time and attention in the exposition? Perhaps it isn't important? I just enjoy properly setting up a character.
> 
> As for grammatical mistakes, editing is an ongoing process. If you notice any, feel free to point it out. I will continue to make corrections when I have time.
> 
> (Also, anyone have suggestions for a better summary? This one kind of sucks. I ran out of creative juices this morning).


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